“Yes.” Our man was certain. “He used to order here about a month ago, and we haven’t seen him since. Then for the first time in a while, he came by yesterday. He was very hurried and in a rush. He didn’t order anything unusual.”
Returning to the recording, there wasn’t anything overly odd about Jerry’s time spent at the takeaway. He barely interacted with any of the local customers, just the men in black uniforms that handled his food. After ten minutes, give or take, the server handed Jerry Clark a white bag full of steaming food, and then he aimed for the door. Luckily, the bell could withstand another of his mini whirlwinds that occurred when he left. With those muscles, it would be a struggle to close doors gently.
“Do you write down the names of the customers that you serve?” McCall asked nobody in particular.
“We write down the orders that we take every night in a book,” the server answered. “The customers give us their names, and we call them out when their order is ready. It’s how we keep track of our trade. I can go and get the book if you’d like?”
“That would be great,” McCall said, and we waited for him to scuttle away in search of their logbook. She turned to me with raised brows. “If we can see the names of the customers, we can find the full alias that Jerry’s using. Or if he’s using multiple aliases to disguise his movements with.”
“Very thoughtful.” I hummed in approval and licked the pads of my fingers to taste the aftermath of my curry. She gently shook her head as if to say, ‘not here.’ Abiding by her subtle hints, I tentatively shoved my hand back into its usual pocket. By which time the server had returned with the book tucked underneath his armpit, I tried to pretend I hadn’t noticed the latter detail.
He slapped the book on the countertop with gusto, the aftermath of wind blowing across my neck. “Let me see. The fourteenth is the date that man came in.” The pads on his fingers were lighter than the rest of his skin, and the bearded server flicked across each page indecisively. At a second glance, he reminded me of a garden gnome, short, stubby, and who could forget that brilliant full beard that moved as one entity? At last, he reached the simultaneous date that matched up to the recording and showed us the page. “Feel free to look for what you need.”
We scanned the open page dutifully, spotting the name we desired to see scribbled in the server’s cursive handwriting. McCall’s nail underlined the writing in triumph.
“Got him. He ordered under the name Sid Bonds. That’s the full alias. Who does this guy think he is, choosing a name like Bond? Clearly, he’s got a superiority complex.”
“Bonds. Sid Bonds,” I snorted at my own reference. All the while, our gnome-like server watched on in confusion at our interaction. “Well, we’ve got what we came here for. Now we know the full alias Jerry’s using, there’s plenty of wiggle room for leads. Transactions, bookings… the lot.” I gave a jig of relief, rejuvenated and full of energy from the trip. “DCI Harvey will be relieved.”
“Thank you for the help. And the food, we can’t forget the food.” McCall shook hands rather aggressively with the server, very over-excited at our epiphany. “Do you mind if we take a copy of this list?”
“Not at all,” he seemed keen to serve us. “I’ll go and take a photocopy right away. There are sweets in that jar while you wait. Please go ahead and help yourselves.”
“Hm.” I noticed the jar now that we weren’t distracted, which was filled to the top with a variety of boiled treats. They made up every colour of the rainbow, all luminous and inviting. The yellow ones tended to be my favourite flavour, and I found myself salivating before I’d even tasted one. “Don’t mind if I do.”
Snaking my large hand into the cold-to-the-touch jar, McCall averted her gaze when I took out a massive handful.
“I can’t believe your cheek,” she hissed.
“They offered!” I defended myself. “Want some?”
“Well, duh. Do you even need to ask?”
22
Back at the office, the laughter about Jerry Clark’s full alias had eventually died down. Every now and again, Cillian would make a joke in reference to the Bond franchise by pretending to stroke a fake cat made out of Rebecca’s coat on his lap.
“Pipe down,” DCI Harvey warned the lively lad, yet couldn’t help the chuckles that arose at every new spy joke. “I’m sure you guys don’t need telling, but I want you all searching for anything with the name Sid Bonds attached to it.”
McCall handed around the photocopied list we’d obtained from The Spice of India. “We know it’s been a month or so since Jerry faked his own death. Since then, we can only assume this is the only alias he’s used for everything recently. Search for bank cards, shop purchases, the dealership for the van. Anything that links us to his exact whereabouts.”
“Our twenty-four hours are nearly up.” DCI Harvey winced at her own reminder, with strands of greasy, soot coloured hair hanging limply across her forehead. It honked in the hub, all of us in dire need of showers or baths. “Keep pushing and typing as fast as those fingers will allow. We can’t afford to step off the gas yet.”
I was still standing awkwardly by the door, and the surprise given to us from the takeaway remained hidden behind my back. The kindly servers had refused to let us leave empty-handed and gifted us with even more containers of food. I think Tony was beginning to catch on, for he sniffed the air in confusion as to where the aromas were coming from.
“Whilst we continue to work, we were gifted with a little something to keep morale high.”
When I revealed the takeaway bag, the entire team gave a huge cheer. Their stress melted away, even if it was only for a split second. Dishing out the nearly cold dishes, the team tucked in, trying to keep the keyboards and desks clean and free of crumbs. Tony ate like a wild boar and ripped apart the tender chicken. Rebecca ate like a lady, knees pressed together and legs tucked under the desk and smaller bites. Even DCI Harvey took a container and tucked gratefully into the golden rice.
“I can’t lie. This is good.”
“Good? Guv, this stuff is… a taste of heaven.” Cillian kissed the tips of his forefinger and brandished them into the air, throwing crumbs over Rebecca’s unsuspecting self. Somehow, spillages and vibrant red stains already decorated his suit, contrasting the ugly brown wool blend.
DC Taylor had barely noticed the food that McCall had nudged towards him, too busy focusing on his pixelated computer screen. At roughly five-minute intervals, he’d sigh, take his glasses off, wipe them, then shove them back on again. Nobody would be able to force him to eat, especially not when he’d tried so hard to get lean and fit, and takeaways weren’t exactly his first choice of meals at the moment. They were full of salt and carbs.
The silence of quelled hunger pangs and satisfied stomachs slowly took over the office when a rap on the door caught us off guard, and we turned to see a bashful PC with a file in his hands.
“Sorry, Ma’am,” he spoke directly to DCI Harvey.
“Come in,” she offered.
“Thanks. Er, I have a file that DC Taylor requested from me the other day.” He spotted the detective constable who stood up from the desk to greet him. The tanned, wadded file exchanged between their grip, which DC Taylor accepted appreciatively and gave the PC a pat on the back, then allowed him to leave as quickly as he came. “Cheers, mate.”
“Something to tell us?” DCI Harvey wondered, tentatively wiping her mouth free of crumbs.
Engulfed in his own studious world, DC Taylor barely noticed she was talking to him. McCall gave him a sharp nudge, and he looked up like a rabbit caught in the headlights.
“What did you say, Guv? Concentration always turns me partially deaf,” he cringed.
DCI Harvey didn’t seem to mind. In fact, a proud expression took over control of her facial features. “That’s what I like to hear. I said, do you have something to tell us all? I didn’t know that you had requested a file.”
Distracted by the tête-à-tête between the two officers, the team liste
ned in whilst gradually starting to throw their emptied foil tubs into the waste bin.
“I didn’t want to shout it out until I was sure about my mishap,” he explained and barely made eye contact with anybody, for he was too busy delving into the given file. “I requested these couple of profiles before, from that uniformed guy who just came in here when we were down in the canteen. I thought that a neighbourhood always has nosey neighbours, and that a kidnapped girl isn’t exactly going to stay quiet.”
McCall leaned over to skim read them too. “Noise complaints?”
“Exactly,” he confirmed, gratified by our impressed expressions. “I already rifled through some, and nothing originally jumped out at me. That was until you came back with Jerry Clark’s full alias.” He motioned for the takeaway list to be handed to him. Rebecca trotted over obediently, intrigued by the discussion. “I’d already handed the file back to the uniformed officers, so I had to request it back. The last name of Bonds stood out to me in my head, and I could’ve sworn I’d seen the name somewhere before and recently too.” He held up a particular form. “Here. Read this complaint.”
McCall took the complaint form away from the constable, scanning over the typed up writing as she announced her find to the group. “It says here that this complaint form had been logged on the 15th of April. Two to three days after Sarah’s kidnapping.”
DC Taylor rubbed his palms together as people do when things are getting exciting and took over the story. “A woman reported relentless sounds of crying coming from the neighbour’s house, specifically at number 5 Barnhill Road. She said it’s never happened before and that the neighbour is usually the prime example of a perfect person to live next door to.”
None of us even made a recognisable squeak.
“A PSCO went over for a quick chat with the neighbour,” he carried on in his rich and fulfilling tone. DC Taylor could be a natural storyteller, a voice that people naturally gravitate towards. “Three guesses as to who’s name popped up?”
“It isn't Mr Bonds by any chance, is it?” Rebecca answered immediately.
“Exactly,” he confirmed.
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. “Did the PCSO hear any sign of a struggle?” The niggling inkling struck me. “If it’s Sarah making the noise at that address, then there’s--”
“No,” DC Taylor said urgently. “The chat took place on the doorstep outside of the house and late at night too. Sarah could’ve knackered herself out from crying by that time, as kids often do. The chat between the officer and ‘Mr Bonds’ took five minutes at the least. It was near the end of the PSCO’s shift, and she was desperate to get home. She reported on the forms that the neighbour apologised and explained that he was looking after his young niece for a week and that the kid was missing her parents, nothing more sinister than that. The report holds up, as the PCSO was unaware of Sid Bond's real identity, and she certainly wouldn’t have thought to do a background check for something as trivial as a noise complaint.”
“Shit. Niece, my arse,” DCI Harvey raged at the revelation. “If the bloody officers weren’t in such a rush to clock off all the time, then we could have saved ourselves this cat-and-mouse chase.” Barely pausing to hear the rest, she made a firm beeline towards the corridor. “I think that’s all we need to suspect the people staying at Barnhill Road are Jerry Clark and Sarah Carling. I’ll get straight on the phone and get a warrant sorted, plus some uniformed teams to back us up. Jerry doesn’t seem like a small guy that would be easy to arrest.”
Before leaving, the decisive woman spun on her tiny heel and gazed at us all with a confident nod. “Good work, everyone, keep holding on tight. And congratulations on the lead, DC Taylor.” With that compliment, she left us alone.
I noticed that Tony hadn’t said much since the epiphany, which was unusual. Usually, he’d be the first to celebrate or revel in the thought that we were on the tales of our criminal.
“Tony? Everything alright?” I asked.
“Huh?” Jolting from a sheet of paper that had him engrossed, Tony nodded sheepishly. “Yeah, I’m fine, Sir. Just thinking.” He placed down some transactions he’d been following up all day. “I’ve been going over some of Mrs Carling’s personal bank account transactions recently, rather than the couple’s joint accounts. Anyway, it doesn’t matter right now, not when we’re so close to finding Sarah.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Yeah,” I hesitantly returned the gesture.
The run-up to visiting Jerry Clark was full of adrenaline and nerve, and our time was best spent preparing. The tension showcased itself in a different way with each of us. For me, it was when I ran around on a frantic search for my handcuffs. Upon finding them, I wouldn’t let them out of my sight. It was a hint of OCD that showed when I knew we were close to arresting someone. I preferred them to be in my range of sight or about my person. Even if we weren’t necessarily the ones to carry out the full arrest, they were something of a comfort and a safety precaution.
The bumbling hive of activity gave me a weird sense of deja vu. A taste of impending doom almost materialised in thin air. It could almost be seen. None of us would be able to handle a second failure under our belts and the dents to our egos that came hand in hand with failure. This had to be it.
By convincing myself to think positive thoughts only, an eagerness spread and coursed my bloodstream, trickling across to my veins and even the tiniest of capillaries.
Justice was going to taste sweet.
23
After pounding on the brass and weather-worn door knocker, DCI Harvey took a cautious step backwards. Always expect the unexpected, that’s the advice we kept fresh in our minds. Anyone could exit the premises, and for all we knew, they could be armed and extremely dangerous. Joined up with uniformed backup, half of the CID team took the front. Round the rear exit and lying in wait near the row of beaten up, disconnected garages were DC Taylor and Cillian, plus the rest of the backup, in case Jerry Clark attempted to make a mad dash for his freedom.
“Police!” DCI Harvey announced aloud, and a few stray kids wandering the street stopped to take a peek at the unfolding scene. Rebecca inhaled shakily, ready for whatever the circumstances may throw at us. Shivering in her unsuitable jacket for the chill, McCall wasn’t doing any greater. These women and their choices of clothing. Would they never learn?
Following the address given on the noise complaint form, we were gathered outside of 5 Barnhill Road. Whilst it certainly wasn’t the poshest area of the bay, some of the houses were making the best of their area and what they were lumbered with. The others? Well, the less said about them, the better.
Number five showed a relatively unkempt and grimy house. The windows had delicate spider webs that appeared to be splintered across the reflective panes. All the spiders had long migrated elsewhere for the spring. Dewdrops from the recent rain dripped from each of the panes onto the concrete window sills that were stained from viridescent tufts of moss. Moss had fallen down from the slanted roof tiles too, and their drainage pipe leaked, but so did the entire street. Plumbing can’t have been on their list of priorities around here.
“This place is certainly roomier than a coffin,” Tony said dryly and shuffled impatiently. “Sid Bonds had a decent set-up for a dead man.”
DCI Harvey scoffed. “You can say that again.” Reflecting her attention back to the front door, she rapped again. “Police! Jerry Clark, we’d like you to open the door.”
Upon her words, a mighty crash bellowed from inside the property, and it was blatantly obvious that somebody was roaming around in there in a panic. I was convinced that Jerry Clark may have been inclined to open the door to us politely, to keep up appearances as he did so willingly for the neighbourhood PCSO. But it seemed that a peek underneath the blinds had frightened him into action, and it wasn’t long before the back-up stationed at the rear of the property crackled over their radio channels.
“Eyes on the suspect. It’s him.
Making a break for our end. I repeat, the suspect is making a break for it on our end. You’ve got him spooked.”
In some ways, it was a relief to know that Jerry Clark was within our grasp. Innocent people didn’t run. He had a motive to run for his life, whilst we had sheer persistence and teamwork to keep close on his heels. It didn’t take long for two strapping, brawny uniform officers to weave between us, and their experience and equipment contributed towards getting the front door opened for our entry. They filtered into the property like toy soldiers on a pre-rehearsed march. DCI Harvey followed them like a shot, quick on her long legs and toned calves. The adrenaline had affected us all.
“Let's go. Whatever happens with backup, Jerry can’t win here. If we get involved in the chase, then he’s severely outnumbered.”
Tony followed speedily in her wake, hopeful and ready to utilize his athletic abilities in a bit of rough and tumble. They bolted after the bulky figure.
Our sprinting man had already slipped through to the garden, becoming more recognisable as Jerry Clark by the second. Remarkably, he and Marvin were built the same and sported similarly shaped bullet heads. Broad shoulders, too, and his biceps strained against his tight top. I thought Tony was well built, but Jerry Clark won that fight.
The scuffle of officers squeezing across the hallway after our target only spurred on. A frantic call and response of shouts and orders fired from both CIDs and uniforms quickly unravelled into unorganised chaos. I could see Jerry Clark attempting to scale the garden fence, blissfully unaware that both DC Taylor and Cillian laid in wait on the other side. He was quickly becoming prey to our predators.
“Finlay. Rebecca,” McCall muttered and stopped us three in the middle of the hallway, “they’ve got enough manpower out there to tackle Jerry Clark without our help. We’ll start conducting the search for Sarah whilst they're all distracted.”
“Sarge,” Rebecca confirmed and already started to make leeway. She pushed into the adjoining living room, tiptoeing carefully inwards. “I’ll take downstairs. Sarah clearly wasn’t in the kitchen, and there are only two other rooms down here.”
Abduction in Dalgety Bay Page 19
